


you can rent the space inside my mind

by j_quadrifrons



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Ace subtype: sex-repulsed but horny, Canon Asexual Character, Elias is a fucking troll, Implied Mind Stuff, Intrusive Thoughts, M/M, Pre-Season/Series 01, Rape Fantasy, Sexual Fantasy, Unwilling Arousal, ace-typical confusion about attraction and arousal, internalized kinkshaming, trans jon sims
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:08:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28460682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_quadrifrons/pseuds/j_quadrifrons
Summary: The first time Elias puts an over-familiar hand on Jon's back as he introduces him to the research team, Jon thinks, "He might," and immediately cringes back in shame from his own thoughts. It must show in his body as well, because Elias removes his hand just as casually and doesn't touch him again. If Jon feels the weight of that hand hot at the base of his spine for the rest of the day, it's no one's fault but his own.//Four scenes from the life of Jonathan Sims, Research Assistant at the Magnus Institute.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 17
Kudos: 160
Collections: End of Year Exchange 2020





	you can rent the space inside my mind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nivu_vu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nivu_vu/gifts).



> Ace content notes: Jon is sex-repulsed in this fic but has a high libido and a fetish he isn't fond of; there's a fair amount of internalized shame and guilt, but most of it not really ace-related
> 
> Trans content notes: terms used for Jon's bits are cunt, cock, slick

The first time Elias puts an over-familiar hand on Jon's back as he introduces him to the research team, Jon thinks, _"He might,"_ and immediately cringes back in shame from his own thoughts. It must show in his body as well, because Elias removes his hand just as casually and doesn't touch him again. If Jon feels the weight of that hand hot at the base of his spine for the rest of the day, it's no one's fault but his own.

It isn't that he's attracted to Elias – well, not like that, at any rate. He isn't attracted to anyone, and not for lack of trying. It's just that attraction has nothing to do with the way his body reacts to a steady dose of artificial hormones, and all he can think is that at one point his wires got crossed and now his inconvenient, undirected libido has latched onto an idea that it simply won't let go of, no matter how much Jon hates it. 

He isn't sure, either, what it is that sets off that particular train of thought; there doesn't seem to be a reliable pattern outside of "people who generally seem to know what they're doing better than he does," which frankly isn't a terribly high bar to clear. All he knows is that it isn't something he has under conscious control, because if he did, he certainly wouldn't choose to spend an hour every evening with three fingers shoved up his cunt while he imagines Elias manhandling him into one of the library's research carrels and fucking him roughly with a hand clamped tight over his mouth to muffle his screams. 

(In his own bedroom, Jon bites into the flesh of his thumb as he comes, stifling a cry that has more fear in it than is really reasonable. As he washes his hands he focuses on the deep indentations in his skin and tries to put the whole scenario out of his mind before it turns his stomach.)

The worst part of it is that Elias has never been anything other than kind and friendly in a collegial kind of way, not at all inappropriate for a professional relationship. And not rare, either - Elias does seem to be very friendly with most of his employees. He's certainly more _tactile_ than Jon's used to, and he's happy, for a while, to put his subconsciousness's new fixation down to that. He simply isn't touched all that often any more; it's not unusual for some part of his body to...misinterpret things.

//

The connection seems too obvious to really be worth any attention: Jon has never felt the desire to have sex with another person, but he does require a fairly regular stream of orgasms and he has an inveterate curiosity about the peculiarities of normal human behavior. Rape fantasies are extremely common, particularly among anyone not perfectly aligned with cis masculinity. Arousal is a physical state, not a psychological one; the body reacts to fear and desire in much the same ways. 

All well and good, as far as intellectual interpretations go, and entirely useless for dealing with the fact that Elias has cornered him near the drinks table at some fundraising function or another which Jon had been informed it was his turn to attend, and ever since realizing that he wouldn't be able to get away without a physical confrontation if Elias wanted to keep him there, he's been horribly, uncomfortably turned on. He can _feel_ how wet his boxers are, and it makes him feel terribly exposed, but he can't get any further away from Elias without it becoming obvious that's what he's doing, and the only thing he wants less than to be here right now is to explain _why_.

It's almost enough to distract from how much he hates social events in general.

(That night finds him grinding his hips into a pillow while squeezing his own wrist behind his back hard enough to bruise, twisting his elbow painfully out of shape. He comes panting into the sheets, gut twisting in shame, with the memory of Elias's voice in his ear in a cruel tone he can't imagine actually hearing from the man.)

//

Working in Research is, fortunately, exactly the kind of environment that suits Jon best. He's given some vague instruction and a pile of work and largely left to himself. It's quiet, with few distractions and fewer meetings, and with the exception of Timothy Stoker, who is the most unselfconsciously gregarious person Jon has ever met, no one goes out of their way to make friends. It's not all that different from uni, really, which is a reassuring comfort. 

It does mean, however, that when he is finally presented with a deadline, he has a hell of a time scrambling to try to meet it. He's not used to having to force his focus into one direction anymore, preferring to hop back and forth between several different lines of inquiry as ideas come to him, but unfortunately that simply doesn't work when he's been handed a literature review that needs to be completed in time for some conference or other that he's not even going to attend. It's not a surprise, really, that he wakes up at six in the morning to the blare of the cleaning crew's Bollywood soundtrack, having fallen asleep on top of his research sometime in the past four hours. 

There's no point in going home now, so he scrubs his face in the bathroom sink and tries futilely to comb his hair back into submission. Exhaustion at least makes it more difficult to get distracted by new ideas, so he's able to turn in the work with a little time to spare, even, but exhaustion also makes it that much easier for his thoughts to run away with themselves before he can stop them. 

What began as worrying what it would have looked like if someone had found him there asleep on his desk turns into thinking about _Elias_ finding him. Everyone knows he works late, after all; it was entirely possible that Jon and Elias were alone in the building late at night. His immediate deadline met and hours left before he can reasonably leave, Jon doesn't have the wherewithal to cut off the scenario playing itself out in his head.

"I should have known," Elias says, disdainful and disappointed, a tone that sends Jon's gut twisting in shame before he's even properly awake. "I had such high hopes for you, but – well." 

Jon tries not to cower as he looks up at him, scrambling for a coherent explanation. When he wets his lips to speak Elias's eyes focus sharply there before drifting downward, evaluating, and a spike of panic sets his heart racing and a rush of slick between his legs at the same time. 

Elias's lips quirk up as if he _knows_ , somehow, and he rests a hand on Jon's shoulder, squeezing just a little too tight to be comforting. "Well," he says again, "there's no use in worrying about things that can't be helped. But if you are going to be a professional disappointment, at the very least you can make yourself useful in other ways."

There's no point in pretending he doesn't know what that means; he doesn't resist as Elias pushes him down forward over the desk, pressing up against him, the musk and spice of his cologne suddenly overwhelming. His cock is hard against Jon's buttocks, and when he grinds down Jon stifles a pathetic whimper. 

"Oh, Jon," Elias murmurs sweetly as he works open the button of Jon's trousers. "There's no need to be quiet; there's no one here to interrupt us." The tears on his cheeks are almost as hot as the wet glide of Elias's fingers against his cock, as Elias's pleased sigh into his ear, as the pain of the edge of the desk digging into his hips when Elias thrusts in, hard. 

The whole thing plays itself out three or four times in spite of Jon's best efforts before he gives up and goes to the lavatory for a shameful, furtive wank. Two orgasms take the edge off enough to let him get home without wholly embarrassing himself in public, but his cheeks are burning for the rest of the day. The next day Elias stops by his desk to thank him personally for his quick turnaround on the review, and Jon is too ashamed to do anything but mumble some self-deprecating nonsense.

//

It's probably unusual just how often Jon meets with Elias. He'd noticed this fairly early on, when he realized that while most of the Institute staff see him often, it's almost always in large meetings - lunch with the library staff, weekly morning meetings with various research departments. He's certainly never seen anyone else in the wide, empty corridor that leads to the director's office on the second floor. But no one ever comments on it, so he reasons it must just be timing and coincidence, and there's nothing at all unusual about having regular meetings with the Head of the Institute even though he's just a researcher, albeit one who gets extremely good performance reviews.

And because of this he's not anticipating anything unusual on the day Elias sits him down and offers him the position of Head Archivist. He's shocked enough that he can't even muster a coherent response at first, though he must have managed something that sounds like acceptance because Elias doesn't hesitate in offering his congratulations. He's been very impressed with Jon's work ethic, he explains, and though some people might think him a little inexperienced for the position, he's sure Jon has the necessary drive to make it work. 

Jon finally manages to pull himself together and offer sincere, professional gratitude, and he's proud of that for a moment, until he realizes that Elias hasn't changed the flow of his conversation at all. It's – it's very much as though he's waiting for something else, and Jon scrambles to think what it is he's forgotten to say. _He wants you on your knees,_ his traitorous mind unhelpfully supplies, and Jon has to bite his own tongue to pull himself sharply back into reality. 

But evidently he hasn't forgotten anything important, because Elias does wrap up the meeting with a suggestion that Jon take the rest of the afternoon to explore the Archives, untouched since the former Head Archivist's disappearance in the spring. He sends him off with a congratulatory handshake – entirely professional, even if he does also grasp Jon's shoulder with a firm grip that turns his knees to water – and at least then Jon is able to compose himself in solitude.

At least it's quiet in the Archives, no security cameras and no inquisitive coworkers to wonder what's made him look so unsettled, even if this time he would have an answer for them. Jon eyes the Head Archivist's office but sits down instead at one of the smaller research desks in the main archives, resting his head in his hands for a few minutes while he reassures himself about the privacy of his own mind. 

_It's fine,_ he tells himself over and over again, digging his fingers into his temples while he breathes slow and deep until it feels natural again. _It's embarrassing, it's massively inappropriate, but he doesn't know. He'll never know. He can't see what you're thinking and you'll never tell him, so it's fine._


End file.
